Let Me Be Your Breath Of Fresh Air
by lovingcaptainswan
Summary: Post Storybrooke. Emma attends her first ball as princess and sneaks away when it all becomes too overwhelming. What she doesn't anticipate is to find a pirate in her bed.


Emma glanced up and down the long, stony corridor once, twice, then again for good measure.

Silence.

_Good. _

Abruptly pulling the heavy, wooden door to her new bedroom open just enough for her to slip inside – her breath hitching at the scrape of the wood against the stone – she shut it behind her as quietly as possible, slinking inside her room with the stealth something akin to that of a cat burglar. Her heart beat in her chest at a quick, erratic-feeling beat as she waited, listening hard for the sounds of footsteps.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Twenty-five.

Still nothing.

_Success._

She heaved a sigh of relief. The seconds continued to pass and it took a moment before she realized that she was still flattened against the closed door. She laughed, short and musical, fueled by a mixture of amusement and hysteria. What was she, in highschool trying to sneak out without her foster parents catching her? She was an _adult._ It all felt so ridiculous! The heaviness of the flowing pale, green dress that her mother had picked out for her, and the mass of lavish, blonde curls that her handmaiden (she had a freaking _handmaiden_!) had artfully styled on top of her head in a strangely elegant sort of heap only added to the outlandish scenario that Emma Swan had honestly, never once considered would _actually_ happen to her.

_She was a princess! (And she couldn't breathe!)  
_

In a few pleasantly innocent moments of her childhood, she had fantasized about running away to Neverland and fighting pirates side by side with Peter Pan and never having to grow up, or becoming a princess who got to wear pretty dresses and ride horses and who would one day grow into a kind and fair ruler that her people adored – there was even a prince in that one.

But that was when she was seven.

The world and what would become her life had quickly shown her its painfully true colors and those silly fantasies had been long gone. Since then, she'd fought _against _Peter Pan rather than at his side, and as far as the princess part went – well, she wasn't really sure she wanted the job anymore (though she was pretty sure that she was stuck with it). Now, here she was, barely able to breathe in this dress that - in a juvenile but nostalgic way - made her feel like a princess as much as she looked it. She had just attended her first royal ball. _A ball!_ Like she was freaking Cinderella (who she knew, by the way, that was still weird as hell). The thought excited the child in her and thoroughly freaked out every other part. Any minute now she was going to wake up and be in some hotel room as a bail bonds person, or maybe in a mental ward, and this whole thing, her parents, Henry, Neverland, the Enchanted Forest (and _him_) – it would all be a dream.

A hallucination.

_A fantasy._

But it wasn't just the princess thing. This whole world, what had become her life, it was all so insane.

One minute she'd miss her world so much it hurt, the ache of utter homesickness throbbing in her chest until she was unable to hold the tears back, lungs burning, fighting for air. The next moment, she'd see Henry swordfighting with Neal or brushing David's horse as his grandfather looked on in pride, the happiness on their faces so pure and natural and suddenly, she never wanted to leave.

She missed her little yellow bug and the freedom of being able to go wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. She missed electricity. She missed cheeseburgers. She missed her coffee maker- no, she missed _indoor plumbing_. Ok, there was really no possible reconciliations for those last two. But sometimes, _just sometimes_, Henry's grin when Snow taught him how to properly hold a bow, or the beauty and solace of the castle gardens or the way the air was crisp and clear and something about the blueness of the sky in a way that Boston, or New York, or even Maine never was made it all okay, even in a small way, even for just a minute. But that feeling was almost always only for a minute, then the reality of their situation would come crashing back until she was suffocating again.

She was a princess and princesses had responsibilities and expectations and princesses became _queens_. Fucking queen. The thought would have made her laugh even only a year ago, but now it made her stomach roll, flip-flopping like it was training for the fucking Olympics.

_A queen._

It was petrifying (even if she was the same age as her parents).

She was terrified of the responsibility. She shuddered at her 'princess lessons' as she would sarcastically call them, learning customs and courtesies, Enchanted Forest history, diplomacy, politics (she'd never had much use for them back in her world much less Fairytale Land).

She cringed at the idea of being a leader, a ruler, for people to put their faith in her. It had taken her long enough to accept that she was _The Savior _of a small town of hundreds back in Storybrooke, hardly embraced being the leader of their group in Neverland, and now she had a _whole kingdom_ who would one day rely on her in a place that she hardly knew. It was overwhelming. It was more than overwhelming, it was more than she could handle right now, and as much as she knew her parents loved her and did their best to help her to adjust, they didn't understand – couldn't understand what she was going through, not really.

Sometimes it was just too much and she needed to take a breath. She needed to close her eyes and breathe and remember who Emma Swan was and forget the whole princess thing.

_Like tonight. _

God, what was tonight? She'd been a princess at a ball in a fancy dress with people waiting on her, looking up at her like she was something precious and beautiful and it was overpowering and flattering and amazing and terrible and the nagging feeling that something was missing tipped the scales from _this might actually be ok _after her parents and Henry had smiled reassuringly at her to _this is awkward as hell and I need to get out of here before I freak out in front of everyone_.

She knew what that _something missing_ was, and that made it even worse.

"Sneaking off to bed so early, love?" a shockingly familiar voice greeted her from across the room, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Emma whirled around (as quickly as her rib-crunchingly tight corset beneath her dress would allow her) to see the cocky pirate draped across her beyond king sized bed, looking the same as he always had - form-fitting leather (too form-fitting if you asked her), a black long-sleeved shirt (with a completely unnecessarily low neckline, exposing a dark mass of chesthair and the chain that he wore around his neck), and of course, his hook.

(God, it was strange seeing that hook again after not seeing it for so long.)

The slight ache in her chest told her that she had missed it. Her head wondered why she would miss such a silly detail. Her head also told her she'd just missed _him_. The same damn missing piece inside that she'd hoped would mold to fill itself the months that he'd been gone.

He was it.

The pirate who had helped save her son's life in Neverland. The pirate who had come back for her in New York and fought with her side by side against the Wicked Witch. The pirate who had gone with all of them to the Enchanted Forest. The pirate who had grinned at her and called her princess and asked her if she was ready for the fun to begin yet. She'd whispered a trembling _I don't know_ and then a stronger _I need to think - _her life, her sudden, newfound responsibilities caving in on her because things had changed since Neverland, _so much had changed_, and despite his wavering expression, he'd nodded and murmured _as you wish_. She could still feel the brush of his fingers against her cheek before he turned away and strode across the fields back in the direction of the castle like it had been branded there.

Short weeks passed and she could see him grow restless, finding it difficult to sit in one spot, unable to remain content acting as courier or even prize of the Navy (last she heard, he'd outright refused to officially join) whatever her parents needed from day to day and before she realized what was happening, he was promising that he'd see her again as he walked onto the main deck of the Jolly Roger, barking out orders to his new crew with a pride and fervor that she hadn't quite seen on him before.

Her heart had ached when she had watched him sail away, and a part of her knew she had seen the flash of pain in his eyes when she didn't stop him, even though she told herself that it was all in her imagination. The way her mother had rubbed her shoulder comfortingly and the knowing look in her father's eyes made it worse.

When had he come back? How many months had it been now?

"Hook?"

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"Can't say I was expecting anyone in my bed…"

"Well. I admit I find that a relief," he grinned cheekily, and she couldn't find it in her to even_ joke_ that he wasn't the first man to have been in it. She knew the grin would disappear from his face in an instant, and teasing him wasn't worth not seeing that silly smile she hadn't known that she had missed so much. "So tell me, love. Is the princess shirking her duties already?"

Emma rolled her eyes in a face-saving attempt to mask her surprise, planting a hand on her hip (or where her hip used to be, beneath all the cloth and frills of the dress). "What are you doing here?"

"I could be asking you the same thing. I do believe there is a ball going on, and what kind of ball doesn't feature the kingdom's dear princess?"

"Shutup," she rolled her eyes again, groaning. "I just- I needed some air." She sighed and moved to sit at the foot of the bed, her back to him.

"All the air in the world isn't going to prepare you for something you're not ready for, Emma." Her head jerked up and she looked over her shoulder, the gown and corset allowing her to do little else to turn, her curious green eyes meeting his vibrant blue. He could still read her like a book. Even after over months at sea doing god knows what, he saw through her like she was made of the thinnest, clearest pane of glass. "Gods, but you look beautiful, Emma."

Again, her eyes snapped to meet his, instinctively searching his expression for hints of a lie despite already knowing that he wasn't. It was sad really, to immediately suspect a lie when a man tells you that you're beautiful, but all the princess dresses in the world couldn't erase a lifetime of insecurity. All she found was sincerity shining in that bright, clear blue, wide with earnestness and hope and she forced herself to relax. _This was Hook after all._

But he didn't feel like just Hook anymore.

She nodded to herself and took a deep breath. "Thanks. It's more uncomfortable than anything," she mumbled, because she wasn't going to tell him that she felt both ridiculous and like a gorgeous real-life princess in it at the same time but for some reason, she felt like she could and he'd understand.

"You're beautiful," he repeated, sitting up slightly, tipping his head to the side and looking straight into her eyes as the briefest moment of vulnerability crossed her expression. She dropped his stare and went back to looking down at the stony, cobbled ground at her feet. "So about this ball?"

Emma groaned, rolling her eyes again, and at this point, they might as well stay rolled back in her head. Had she always rolled her eyes this much while he was around and had it _always _been to hide how much she wanted to smile or kiss that smirk off of his face? She shrugged, looking back over her shoulder.

"I made an appearance."

The pirate stared at her pointedly, scooting to the edge of the bed from where he had been lounging quite comfortably against her mound of ornate pillows that had been delicately placed in two neat rows against the headboard. He looked nice against them, in all his leathered, piratey glory (she did not just think _piratey glory_).

"I have to say I'm hurt you didn't ask I escort you."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You were off… _pirating_ somewhere. How exactly would I have sent the invitation? Asked my mother to talk to some birds?"

"You mean to say that you would have sent me one?" His lips curved up into a playful smirk.

"Really?" She deadpanned. "You _like _these things?"

"Perhaps," he considered, meeting her gaze. "Perhaps with you I would like a lot of things."

The teasing smile fell from her face, giving way to something more serious and doubtful. She tried not to acknowledge how much his words hit her like a punch to the gut and instead, shook her head. "Like _you _can dance."

"Of course," he answered too quickly and easily for it to be a lie, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that pirates can ballroom dance and Emma couldn't help the image of waltzing with Captain Hook in a tuxedo.

(Not that bad of an image, really.)

"Well,_ I_ don't."

"I could teach you… should the princess need a poor pirate's assistance, that is." He dipped his chin and peered up at her, eyes practically dancing mischief.

She waited, watching, anticipating all manners of way for him to end that thought, but nothing came. In fact, he even looked confused by her silence. "Wait. _Really_?"

"What?"

"You are aware that you just made a comment about teaching me to dance without making an innuendo."

"Well, of course, love. I assumed that I didn't have to teach you _that_, you being a mother and all. Though if you're asking… I suppose that I am quite a bit older," his brow furrowed and he mockingly stroked at his chin, his eyes widening with feigned shock. "Gods, now that I think on it, based on age alone you're not much older than a babe, practically_ virginal_-"

"Okay, okay,_ never mind_." She rolled her eyes. Whoops. There she went again. "Besides, I may have gotten a lesson or two."

His eyebrows raised in a slow, amused arch. "Do you mean the dancing or…"

"Shutup." She moved an inch closer to him, telling herself she was trying to get comfortable in that damned dress, the thick tension that hung between them calling her a liar. "So. Where did you go?"

He unconsciously leaned towards her and shrugged. "I was gone near four months, Emma. I've gone to many places."

"And did what? Burned villages and stole jewelry?"

She immediately regretted the joke when she saw the hurt that darkened his expression and he chewed his lip in quick, nervous little nips, rolling his lip and biting down, his eyes fixed on the coverlet beneath him.

(She'd missed particular quirk; she hadn't even been consciously aware of it until he'd gone. That's when she'd started remembering all the little things.)

"Not exactly." He paused, sliding his tongue over the lip that he had just been chewing, glancing up with a slow, devilish smirk that creeped across his face. "Not to disillusion you from no doubt the _vivid_ fantasies you've had of me pillaging and plundering… but I'm afraid it's much less exciting than that, love. I've been working for your father."

"I thought you said no to him?"

"I said no to an official position," he shifted – nervous, maybe. It was the same look he always wore whenever his father mentioned the Royal Navy – looking down at the stony floor. "But I'm not apt to refuse the occasional job for a mate. Just mapping out a few trade routes, taking note of port towns, sources of trade, possible relationships to build… the usual."

Emma had to keep her jaw from dropping because Captain Hook had gone on a_ diplomatic mission_ for her parents. Hook!

"Everything's changed after the curses, things aren't as they once were so..." he trailed off as if it was nothing. "Boring work, really," he shrugged, his neutral look quickly turning into a smile. "Why, love? Did you miss me?"

She bit her own lip and stared at her dress pooling around her feet. "You were gone a long time."

"It was a tedious job, but that's not what I asked, love."

She rolled her eyes. "And if I did?" His face split into a warm, contagious grin that Emma couldn't help but return, shaking her head. "Henry will be expecting presents, you know."

"I assure you he won't be disappointed."

"Really? You brought him something?"

"Perhaps."

"Well," she went on, feeling herself getting braver with every smile. "In that case, did you bring _me_ anything?"

"That depends. What is it that you want from me, love?"

Her heart thudded in her chest (of course, this was why he'd shown up in her room and not at the ball with some dramatic entrance). Emma shifted to face him, attempting to tuck her knees onto the bed as she ran over the thoughts and feelings that she'd gone over a thousand times while wondering if- when he'd be back. She winced, sucking in a sharp breath at the way her corset tightened around her diaphragm.

"_Damn_ this thing!" She let out a distinctly un-princess-like growl, tossing her legs back over the edge of the bed as roughly as she could manage, pushing herself back to her feet and tugging at her waist, seeking some sort of relief. "Right now, I just want to be able to breathe again."

Hook let out a hearty chuckle, clearly amused by her plight.

"I hate this fucking thing," she muttered harshly - enjoying the sound of _fuck_ leaving her mouth after months of watching what she said around the kingdom - reaching behind her back blindly for the laces that confined her but to no avail.

Hook's eyebrows shot up and he chuckled again. "Always did think you'd make a better pirate than a princess, love, but every minute you seem to prove me all the more an honest man."

"Whatever, you wear one of these for hours and let me know how you're doing." She paused, fumbling with her corset to no avail. "Give me a hand with this?"

Hook stiffened momentarily, tipping his head as if he hadn't quite heard right. "Pardon me, Darling, but did you just ask me to undress you?"

Emma scoffed, groaning and dropping her hands with a frustrated sigh. "I asked you to be a gentleman and loosen this damn thing so I can breathe." She said, throwing a pointed smirk over her shoulder. "You think you can handle that?"

She looked back ahead of her, jumping slightly when a warm, calloused hand brushed her bare back (the man moved like a damned cat).

"You'll find I can handle a lot of things, Swan."

His fingers trailed down her laces, touching a crisscrossed pattern of skin and cloth, his touch and the rumble to his voice sending a tingle down her spine. And that was it. Him touching her, even like this wasn't enough, _none of this_ was enough, his friendship, his love from afar - it wasn't enough anymore. She'd missed him. God, she _still_ missed him and he was right _there_. Emma swallowed hard and tried not to think about letting this go further than a simple act of chivalry, not when her mother would no doubt come looking for her when she noticed she was missing, but _shit_, four months ago it hadn't sounded so bad and now it sounded even better. She had a feel for this whole princess thing, Henry was adjusting, would it really be so bad, for once in her life to just-

Emma felt him hesitate as if reading her thoughts.

"Just so that you are aware, love, I didn't anticipate this talk going this way…"

"Just loosen the laces, Killian."

He chuckled, a deep, happy sound and his fingers began to move, slowly, unsure at first until he seemed to remember the motions and settled into something of a rhythm, skin brushing skin, her dress gradually loosening as the seconds passed. There was a tangible change between them from their playful rapport from a mere moment ago and she was starting to remember the overwhelming rush that came from just being near him that used to terrify her and realized that it didn't terrify her so much anymore.

"Gods, woman, if you're trying to distract me from talking about us," he murmured as his fingers continued to thread and pull, a bit rougher than her mother or her maids, but still with a certain startling amount of skill for a man with one hand.

The pressure on her ribs and chest eased with every lace, his breath ghosting along her neck in warm puffs, sending another tingle down her spine that felt entirely too good.

"I think it's working pretty well." Her tease cut short when she sighed unintentionally as his fingers grazed her bare back, hoping that he couldn't feel her shudder. "Do I even want to know how many times you've done this?"He let out a breathy laugh and she was pretty sure that if she could see him right now, there would be that familiar pink tint to his cheeks. "More times than you'd think with less women than you'd imagine," he replied cryptically, ending with a soft _there_ when she felt him drop his hand and take the barest step closer, his chin nearly resting on her shoulder. "Easier to breathe then?"

She stilled, every muscle stiff and tense as the feelings flooded over her all over again. He saved her, he came back for her, he waited for her, _he loved her_. The words repeated over and over again like an endless chant. And now he was waiting for her all over again in her room, where he knew she'd eventually escape to, talking with her, taking care of her and she was having a hard time remembering why she'd ever thought that this would be too much.

It wasn't too much.

He was relief, life, _air_ to her burning lungs and it could never be too much.

She didn't remember turning around and raking her hand through the hand through his hair and pulling him into her as their mouths crashed together, hard and slow, lips kissing and tugging, teeth nipping, tongues sliding together and tasting every inch in a languid dance. It was like Neverland and more, passionate, full of romance and promises and yearnings that she'd denied herself for too long. His hand reached to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair like the laces, and as quickly as the kiss began, they pulled apart, gasping, chests heaving, foreheads resting against the other until she dropped her face into the crook of his neck. She breathed in the scent that was entirely Hook, _Killian,_ deeply, willing her pulse to slow when she felt his arm wrap around her waist and draw her closer, his breath on her hair as his lips parted.

"Well then?"

She smiled, brushing her lips against the juncture of his neck and shoulder once, twice, sighing and letting herself melt in his embrace.

Yeah. It was easier to breathe now.


End file.
